Ain't As Bad As They Look (Part Three: Unafraid)
by trinkierae
Summary: Daryl had an emotional break through. His family is there to love and support him as he works out the pain from his past. Sasha is there for him, but will he be able to face that pain? Being willing to face his past will be his path to loving Sasha and himself. (I don't own The Walking Dead or its characters)


Ain't As Bad As They Look:

Part Three: Unafraid

After a night of walking and thinking, Daryl was tired. He wanted to sleep. Sometimes, he could go days with only a couple of hours of sleep. If his people needed him, he willed himself to go without sleep. Tonight, he wanted, _needed,_ to sleep, to find refuge in the oblivion of sleep; would even risk dreams to have a respite from his reeling mind. Thinking about it all: Sasha, the way the world was, his father, Merle, the marks on his back; it had drained him. Emotions, feelings, thinking, could be just as demanding, just as exhausting, as hiking fifteen miles through dense woods or fighting off a dozen walkers, even more so. When he heard the sound of birds, he realized he had been out all night. All night: it felt like a few minutes ago, or maybe, days ago...he wasn't sure anymore. His mind was in a spiral. He thought he heard his father searching for something through the house they lived in after their first house burned...burned to the ground, with his mother in it-the first, of many times, his world was upended. He could hear a stream of curses as if his father was there. He would dream she, his mother, was driving her convertible, with him in the passenger seat. Both of them, smiling and laughing. He sometimes dreamed he saw Merle's grinning face. Saw him in his army uniform...saw him on his bike...or as a walker. Each dream held nightmarish images for Daryl. People had been coming back from the dead for a long time for Daryl. He wondered if he had actually talked to Sasha or if he had imagined it. He thought about her all time. "She was here," he told himself. "She is real. She ain't a ghost or pretend, or no such bullshit like that. _She is real._ "

Sasha came to find him. He didn't like that she came looking for him, but he was glad she found him. He heard her footsteps in the distance, moving closer in the dark. He recognized the cadence of her foot falls. There were a whole lot of things Daryl was uncomfortable with when it came to opening up to people. There were a whole lot of things he was uncomfortable with when it involved letting people close. The thought of physical touch sometimes made him cringe. When he was with Sasha, most of those feelings, fears, were still there, but muted. She managed to give him a sense of stillness. When she was close to him, he didn't feel as restless. She put him at ease, most of the time.

He didn't have to suppress the urge to bolt with her. He got that feeling whenever he was at loose ends. If shit was coming at him, if there were a dozen walkers threatening to rip into him or the people he thought of as his family, if he had to put some motherfucker on his ass, he was as calm as a sleeping baby. But, having someone's hands on him, scared him all to hell, caused him to turn into a ten-year-old kid. And, he felt completely vunerable, helpless. Even before the turn, touch was something he avoided.

Daryl was sitting against one of the supports for the wall. Sasha stopped when she saw the red glow of his cigarette. She took a deep breath and walked over to where he sat. She stood a moment, but unlike, earlier, did not ask to join him.

"Are you coming back, coming inside?" she asked.

"No, I'm good where I'm at." He blew a cloud of smoke into the air. "You go back, I'm good."

"I'll go, but...is everything...you...okay? Are you okay? Do you need something? Can I help...with what you're doing?" Sasha struggled to find the right words.

"Everything's fine," he answered, with a near moan in his voice. He sounded mournful. "Just go. Nothin' you can do, nothin' for you to do."

Saying those kinds of words was big for Daryl. To openly say he was dealing with emotional pain, emotional trauma, was like breaking a dam. He felt his breath quicken, he squeezed his hands into fists and clenched his teeth. The tension created by speaking those words, was as present and real as the two of them. Sasha did not move from where she stood. He lowered his head, and tried again. "Go home, Sasha. I can't be in there with you. Not like this. I can't."

Sasha was sure her heart would break listening to the the pain in his voice. "No tears," she told herself, "he doesn't need your tears." He had told her it was a long time ago; that it, he, was better. She wanted to believe that, tried to believe him; hearing the ache in his voice, she knew better. The sight of him hunched over and shaking made it clear; he didn't believe it, either.

"All right," she told him. She turned and walked away, leaving him to himself. It was the hardest thing she had done since buryng Tyrese. She quickened her pace, then she ran.

When Daryl finally came inside it was nearly morning. He was covered in dew, or sweat, or tears; he didn't know which. He went into the room he shared with Sasha. She was sleeping on top of the covers under his blanket, like she always did when he was not in their room. She woke up when she felt him in the room. He was standing at the foot of the bed...chewing at the flesh of his thumb. He was barely breathing.

She was immeadiately wide awake. "What?" panic evident in her voice. "What is it?"

"I don't know...I came in...I was cold...I can't find my"...he said in a barely audible whisper. He let a small breath escape.

Sasha threw the blanket back and went to the foot of the bed on her knees. She was just before calling for Rick. "I'll get Rick...do you want me to get him?"

"No...I'm...I'm cold," he began to shake. "I don't know where I put it. Can't wake up the baby...she's in there sleepin', we can...," he stopped mid-sentence. He seemed to drift between two worlds...the world in his mind and the room where he stood-between the past and present. He was lost. He started to back away, his legs gave way and he collapsed in a heap an arm's length away from Sasha.

"Daryl!" she called out to him. He lifted himself and used the bed to support himself. He tried to get to his feet. "I was looking for it, you know...but it's gone." He mumbled the same odd phrase: "I don't know where I put it." His legs felt like jelly, and at the same time, were as heavy as lead.

"What, what's gone? I'll help you find it," she tried to reassured him.

"No, no...it's too cold for you out there."

He tried to stand, but his knees again buckled and he was, once more, flat on the floor.

Sasha covered her mouth with her hands and fought back tears. "Oh, god, Daryl! What is it?" She was next to him on the floor. She tried to help him sit up. When she was at eye level with him, he looked at her like he did not recognize her. He opened his mouth to say something and vomited. Bile and acid...no food...just pain. It was all over his vest, his pants...him. He was embarrassed. For the third time, he tried to stand, but could not support his weight. He gave up and remained seated. He let his back rest against the foot of the bed and vomited again. He wretched, over and over...there was nothing there, just gut-wrenching dry heaves. Now, he was trembling, shaking, all over. Sasha wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him.

"Don't cry," he managed to get out.

"I'm not, I won't." This time, her voice was strong and clear. Daryl needed her, not her tears.

Daryl was far away from Sasha. Even though he was right next to her; he was gone. She felt shudder after shudder shake his strong, muscular frame. He was trapped-stuck in a place beyond her reach. She wished she had never seen those horrible marks on his back. The dam was breaking. She was watching the man she loved-she had loved him for a long time, now-break. Not from the end of the world, not because the dead were walking the Earth...he had known monsters before, he had lived in hell before. But, because she had seen something he tried to keep hidden. Not from her, from himself, and he couldn't push it back into its hiding place. It was raw, exposed, uncovered; it was too much for Daryl to keep down, too heavy for him to carry.

He looked at her and smiled a weak smile. This time, he seemed to know her. "Sorry...I puked all over...did I get it on you?"

"No, no, you didn't. It's fine, I'm fine. Don't worry about that, about me. What happened when you were outside? What did you lose?"

He shook his head and panted, trying to take in oxygen. "I don't know." He was near tears, almost in a panic. "I can't stand up, can't stop shakin'...I'm cold."

"That's okay. Just sit here, then; we'll just sit." She rested her forehead on his temple.

"I wish I could find it. I wish I knew where it was," he looked up at the ceiling, he was close to being desperate.

"I'll help you look. We'll find it." Daryl's shivering began anew. Sasha reached behind her to grab his blanket. Although there was the usual cool of early morning, it was not a chill to cause a person to shiver. Daryl was feeling a cold brought on by being stripped bare emotionally. Cold from somewhere, something, inside him, not the temperature of the room. Sasha wrapped the blanket around them and he drew his knees up to his chest and encircled them with his arms-an upright fetal position. They both exhaled and closed their eyes.

"Thank you. Not right now, though. Okay? I don't know why I can't get up." He was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "I don't even know where to look."

"Daryl, what did you lose?" she whispered in his ear.

He shook his head. "I don't know." He let the tears come. After what seemed liked hours, Daryl was quiet. Sasha used her shirttail to wipe his face. He let her. He let her hold him, he let her stroke his back, he let her comfort him. Daryl was all out of ways to fend her off. He was afraid, vulnerable, weak...helpless.

"Don't think about it right now. We'll think about it later. Do you want to sleep?"

"It's light out...I gotta go out..there's a run, right?" He asked it as if he was not sure of the time in which they were living...that there was such a thing as a "run."

"Not yet, and you don't have to go. They'll get somebody else. Or they can wait a few days 'til you feel better. I can go in your place. You don't have to go."

When Sasha offered to go in his place, Daryl shook his head emphatically. "Nuh unh..don't...don't do that for me. I'll stay, but stay here with me, okay...stay here with me."

"All right, I won't go. I'll stay back, too. Do you want to try to get up now? I can help you."

Daryl nodded. He stretched out one leg, leaned into Sasha's side and tried pushing up with his other leg. With her help, he was able to stand. He was afraid to take a step. Sasha was tiny. Daryl was almost twice her size and nearly half a foot taller. She struggled to support him, but was determined to not let him fall again. Whatever this was, it was not going to take him. Not now...not after she realized she loved him. She would not let him go without a fight.

They made the bed their goal. Daryl was covered in vomit and soaked through with sweat. Sasha thought about getting him into the shower, but abandoned that thought. Daryl was in no condition to have her see him physically naked, not after seeing him emotionally naked. That was too much for him; she realized that. She walked him to the bed and Daryl lowered himself onto the bed. When he was sitting, he just went over-no muscle control. He was in a dead faint, asleep, passed out, Sasha didn't no which. She looked at his prone body, and closed her eyes, "No, no, no...no crying," she said. The tears welled in her eyes, she felt them roll down her face as she lifted his legs onto the bed. She wiped her tears away, went into the bathroom and returned with a wet washcloth. She wiped Daryl's face and attempted to wipe away some of what was all over him. She, too, was wearing Daryl's emotions on her skin and clothes. It was evidence of this turmoil he was in. She covered her mouth with her hands, "I have to help him, I have to," she whispered. "He can't do it by himself."

She heard the sounds of the house waking up, coming to life: the opening and closing of doors, footsteps in the hallway, water running, voices speaking. The sun was above the horizon now. When Daryl came in, it was not yet light outside-she didn't know how long the two of them had been struggling with the "walkers" from Daryl's past. She knew one thing: walkers had to be put down when they were coming for you or the ones you loved. Make no mistake: these were "walkers". She couldn't see them, or hear or smell them; she hated it, but, Daryl had to carry that load-but, "walkers", they were and no "walker", real or imagined, would take anyone she loved from her, not without a fight. You could be damned sure of that. She steeled her mind to that, then stilled her spirit. She covered Daryl with his blanket, and went to find Rick.

Once Sasha was on the other side of the door, she put her forehead on the door and held on to the doorknob. She was in a whirlwind, she felt as though she may faint, but pushed that feeling aside. When she turned, Rick was at the top of the stairs holding Daryl's croosbow. His was was sheet-white.

For all the resolved she had displayed while she was with Daryl, it, now, all drained away. She walked to Rick and touched Daryl's crossbow. She broke down. Rick was speechless. Sasha's head was on his chest, he was holding the crossbow in one hand and Sasha against him with the other. Michonne heard the crying. She walked out of the room she shared with Rick onto the sight of a sobbing Sasha and a seemingly stricken Rick. Her eyes went to the crossbow without its owner. She froze. "No, Rick, no. Where is he? Not Daryl...please, God, no!" she was distraught.

Sasha had not realized until the moment she saw Rick standing at the top of the stairs, crossbow in hand, that Daryl did not have his ever-present crossbow with him when he came into their room. In the moment of seeing it and breaking down, she didn't realize what it looked like to Rick. "No, no...he's asleep," she said quickly, "or...I don't know...something happened. He was...undone. I was coming to find you. I hadn't realized he didn't have it with him when he finally came inside this morning-until I saw you holding it...I'm sorry. He's asleep."

Rick let out the breath he was holding, and said, "I'm not...thank God." Michonne regained her senses. She walked toward them. Still concerned, but no longer beyond grasping human speech, she asked, "What happened? You said something happened."

"I don't know." She was on the verge of more tears. "He wasn't making sense. He was outside all night. Michonne, he collapsed. He was shaking like a leaf...it was horrible."

Rick stepped around the two women, handed Sasha Daryl's crossbow and headed toward the room where the man he considered his brother lay sleeping or in some other state. He opened the door and saw Daryl lying on the bed; he never slept in a bed. It was a strange sight. Rick closed the door, as if it was Judith sleeping in that room. He could have slammed it, Daryl wouldn't have heard. He was sleeping, what used to be called, before the turn, the sleep of the dead.

"Where was his crossbow?" Sasha asked Rick.

"Glenn found it over by the solar panels," Rick responded. "I'll be back, Glenn was...he thought, well, the same thing I did." None of them were able to verbalize the thought of Daryl being dead. He caressed Michonne's cheek and went downstairs. Michonne touched Sasha's arm bringing her attention back to her questions about Daryl.

Michonne took a deep breath and let it out slowly, "Hey, tell me what happened," she spoke in a calm, quiet voice. "Can you?"

"I don't know. He couldn't tell me!" she was holding the crossbow, staring at it.

"Here, give it to me," Michonne took Daryl's crossbow and laid it on the table in the hallway. "He'll tell us when he wakes up. Tell me what he said to you, what he did when he came in."

That request seemed to focus Sasha's attention. She wiped her face and tried to tell Michonne what happened with Daryl.

"He was out, all night. I went to get him, he wouldn't come back with me, wouldn't let me sit with him. He told me to go...I was going to wait, you know, and get Rick to go later..or I was gonna go back in a little while, you know, give him some time. I didn't want to push him. She began shaking her head, as though disgusted with herself. " _I_ _fell asleep._ He needed me, and I was asleep." She sucked back tears. "When he came in, he was confused or scared or both...he told me he lost something. He kept saying that! Do you think he meant the crossbow? I didn't realize he didn't have it when he came in. Do you think he meant the crossbow? " she asked again, desperately searching for any clue...rembering Daryl's earlier desperation.

Michonne looked away, she had a far-off look in her eyes. "No, I don't think he was talking about the crossbow. What else?" she asked.

"He was shaking and sweating, but said he was cold...he couldn't _stand up,_ he just dropped to the floor...he threw up, Michonne, twice." She stopped talking and closed her eyes. "I love him, Michonne, I love him. He doesn't want me to, but I do. I didn't know what to do, what he needed. He was so...helpless... _scared._ What can I do? ...I have to help him." Sasha had a look of sadness that scared Michonne. Her family was in trouble. She was not going to let her family be harmed. She embraced Sasha and tried to calm her. "You stayed with him...watched over him, _that's_ what he needed. He has to go through it. He's so afraid. Walkers, assholes...he can handle that. No ambiguity, easy. Put them down. Keep the people you love safe..alive. But, this, this is something different. Did you see them...the scars? Is that what happened the other day?...you saw them," Michonne nodded, "and said something about his back?"

"It's my fault...I shouldn't have said anything...it was none of my business. It was dumb, stupid!"

"You love him," Michonne shrugged, "remember?" She smiled a knowing smile at her friend. "I understand, and it's _not_ your fault. It's the animal who did that, put those scars there, it's his fault. Don't forget that, it isn't your fault. That's what people like that want you to think...that's what Daryl is thinking, that he's to blame, his fault. We, _you,_ have to make him see that it was _never_ is fault."

"I hate him...his father, I hate him for doing that to him," she spit out the words like poison. She was angry that scars from so long ago could still cause pain. Pain to Daryl, and therefore, pain to her, to their family. Even in the upended world, the impact of the blows inflicted on Daryl so many years before, was still being felt.

"That won't help him. Hating a dead man is not what he needs from you. Come downstairs, get some food, before Carl and Judith are awake," it was an invitation to Sasha to talk some more if she wanted to, needed to.

"No, he may wake up. I have to change these clothes. I don't want him to wake up and think I left," she said with a shake of her head.

"Okay," she nodded in acceptance. "We can talk more in a little while. Go...go on. Be with him."

The others had to go on with the day...the day could not be called back. Their world required vigilance and diligence. It was unyielding and demanding, and would not wait.

Two days passed before Daryl was awake. He slept every minute of two full days and nights. When he woke up, Sasha was asleep next to him on the bed, Michonne was in the chair, feet drawn under her, asleep-and Carol, sitting on the ottoman, was looking, watching, out of the window...all three, keeping a vigil. He slowly blinked awake. He looked through blurred vision at the bright light of sunshine streaming into the room. He lay still and tried to remember.

"Hey, Pookie," he heard Carol's voice from across the room. "Good morning, Sunshine."

"Hey, what you doing here?" he asked her with a surprisingly clear voice.

"Waiting, watching...how are you feeling?" she spoke softly.

"I'm okay."

"Yeah, you're "okay"... gotta be, right? You can't fool me, Daryl." Carol glanced at Sasha, sleeping beside Daryl. "She told us what happened. You still say you're okay? She was , is, scared for you."

"What'd she tell y'all? What could she tell you 'bout what happened, I don't even know myself."

"She knows you're not "okay", not fine. Something broke, didn't it?"

"She told you I freaked the hell out 'bout some bullshit with my piece-of-shit ol' man? That I was cryin' like a bitch, that I puked all over myself and her?" The images were coming back to him, now. "That I broke down like some pussy?"

Carol bristled at Daryl's words...knowing they were not his own, but words from his past, from before he became who he was supposed to be...who he was then, not who he was now. Words used to hurt and control him. Words were far more an effective tool than hitting, did far more damage.

"Not breaking "down"...breaking through, breaking _out_ ," she told him. Carol was kneeling in front of him, trying to convince him this was not a bad thing. That he would be even stronger, now. Stronger for the people he loved, for the people who loved _him._ "She loves you, is _in love_ with you. She doesn't need your permission to love you, Daryl. I didn't. Rick...Michonne...Beth...the others, didn't. It turned out okay, didn't it? Better than if you didn't have their love, right? You are good enough for my love, their love, _her_ love. This isn't a bad thing. Not good, but, not a bad thing."

Michonne was awake and listening to their talk. Now, she stretched to let them know she was awake. She smiled at him, "Hi, Daryl."

"Hi, yourself," he said to her greeting. She turned up the wattage of her smile letting him know she was glad, overjoyed, thrilled he was awake, had come back to them.

Sasha was now awake and sit-kneeling behind Daryl as he raised himself to a sitting position. Michonne stood up and turned to leave. "He don't have to come here. He got plenty stuff to take care of without worrying 'bout me," he told her, knowing she was leaving to find Rick.

"You know he will. You want anything?" Michonne asked, reaching for the doorknob.

"I'm thristy as hell...water?" he told her.

"Can do," she started to answer him, when Carol interrupted. "No. I'll get it. You go find Rick. Be right back." She brushed his hair out if his eyes and followed Michonne out of the room.

Daryl and Sasha were alone. She gave him her bottle of water from the nightstand knowing Carol would wait a while before returning with his water, giving them a chance to talk. He drained it and slowly replaced the cap. He handed it back to her, looking at her for the first time since they both had awakened.

"Thank you," he said. "I'm sorry for all this. I don't want you takin' care of me."

"You're welcome. I didn't do anyting, not really, and, please, don't apologize. Do you want to sleep some more?."

"Hell, no...I need to take a piss...sorry, I gotta pee."

Sasha smiled at his customary, uncouth remark. It made her think he would be all right. Daryl was filthy, more so than usual. He had the stink of vomit all over him. "Do you feel able to go on your own? Do you need my help? I can help you, if you need me to," she was anxious about a repeat of two mornings ago.

"Nah, I got it."

Daryl was stiff from being virtually immobile for two days. He stood with some effort. Though, he attempted to wave her off, Sasha was right behind him. He went into the bathroom to do his business. He left the door cracked and called to Sasha from the bathroom. "You can help me a minute?" Daryl was very hesitant to call for Sasha, but he needed her, again.

Sasha went into the bathroom expecting to see the worst. Daryl was standing at the toilet struggling to unzip his pants. "My fingers won't work." She tried to hid the smile that was spreading on her face. She was so glad he needed, asked for, her help. His hands were shaking, he was not able to get his fingers to lift the zipper. He needed more slender, dexterous fingers than his own at the moment. She unzipped his pants and stared at him a moment. "I think I can do the rest," he said and let a stream of urine flow. She turned her back. "You'll need me to help, when you're done. Daryl, let me help you take off all that, all those clothes. I want to help you. If you don't want my help, let me get Carol," she was insistent.

He was so shaky, his hands and on his feet, he took a deep breath and nodded, "Yeah, okay...you." He was exhausted just from walking to the bathroom and standing to pee.

Sasha unbuttoned his vest. There were the marks she had seen that lead to all of this. They stared at each other, neither spoke. He sat down on the toilet. Sasha ran water in the tub, she wasn''t sure he could stand to shower. Daryl never, almost never, showered, washed, bathed. He was already giving Sasha a look of refusal. To preempt his objections, she said, "Daryl, you have disgusting, dried vomit all over you...you need a bath. You can't stand long enough to shower, you have to get in the bathtub. You ain't made of sugar, you won't melt." They both smiled at that sentiment.

The houses in Alexandria were state-of-the-art art and spacious...twenty-first century sustainable. Rick and Michonne's house was one of the biggest. It had four bedrooms and three full bathrooms and one half bathroom. All the common areas were downstairs. Rick and Michonne's room was the master bedroom. Carl and Judith each had a room, though, Michonne was sometimes uneasy about leaving Judith "all the way down the hall," as she put it. The baby often slept in the room with them. The bedroom Sasha and Daryl shared had its own bathroom, with a separate shower stall and bathtub. They heard Carol return to the room. Sasha turned of the water. "Be right back," she told him and left him sitting, trying to get his boots off.

"Where is he?" Carol asked.

"He is trying to take a bath," she shrugged her shoulders and flashed a small smile.

"Well, I'm glad about that, she quipped. "He needs clothes?"

"Yes, can you get some from somewhere? He has nothing in here."

"Of course. There's something of his downstairs, I'm sure."

"He' s a little bit weak, shaky."

"He needs food. I'll check on that, too. I'll come back quick." Carol sensed Sasha's anxiety. She reached out and gave her hand a squeeze, " Don't worry too much...he will get through this. He's just afraid of what it means if he loves you and lets you love him."

"Michonne said that...I don't want him to be afraid, I don't want him hurting because of me," she whispered, not wanting Daryl to hear.

"It's not you, Sasha. It's this thing that was there before all this. He was different before," Carol tried to explain.

"We all were. I get that...I wasn't a disaster-magnet before the world went to hell. I understand...". Carol interrupted, "His life, before, was a disaster. "He was living like a walker. Before the dead began to walk, he was making himself dead on the inside...no pain that way."

"He is so good. He doesn't deserve this," she looked down and shook her head, "he deserves better."

"We know that...we, _you ,_ have to help _him_ see that, too. Don't give up. He needs your help to see he deserves to be loved, is worthy of love, " she had the faintest of smiles on her lips...just enough to show Sasha she was pleased that she had this love for Daryl. "I'll be back," she said over her shoulder.

Sasha went to check on Daryl. She knocked before looking around the open door. Daryl was sitting in the bathtub, just sitting, as if he was waiting, waiting for Sasha to come back.

"Can I come in?" she asked him. He folded his lips in and nodded. She walked over to give him a washcloth...Daryl quickly dipped his head under water and brought it up. He let the water stream over his face. He ran his hand over his face, his eyes closed...he lowered his hands into the water and, with the slightest of bends, offered his back to her. Sasha knelt down beside the tub and soaked the washcloth in the steamy water. She squeezed out the excess water, then washed Daryl's face. With his eyes now wide open, he watched her every move. Sasha squeezed bodywash onto the washcloth and worked up a thick lather. She ran the washcloth over his arms and chest, belly and legs. They both were completely silent, words were not what this moment needed. He turned his torso away from Sasha, giving her access to his scarred back. She paused a moment to look, really _look_ , at what was there. She kissed each scar, before continuing to bathe Daryl. She was trying to soothe, caress him with each stroke. She wrung the water from the washcloth, signaling she was done. She stood to get a towel for him before he stepped out of the bathtub. She was prepared to leave the bathroom, allowing him to dry himself in private. She reached out, handing him the towel. When he didn't take it, she unfolded it and held in open in front of her-Daryl stood and stepped out into the small space between him and the towel...and, Sasha. A dripping, naked Daryl, wrapped the towel around his waist, securing it with a tuck, their eyes never leaving each other.

"Thank you," he told her.

"You're welcome," she replied.

When Rick came back to the house, Daryl was downstairs, fully dressed, and eating. Rick gave him a once over with his eyes. "You good? You scared the hell out of me. They found that crossbow, my mind flipped." When Rick said that, Daryl asked, " You good?" Rick nodded his head, "I am now, " he chuckled in response.

The whole time Daryl was drifting or sleeping, his family was watching and waiting for him to resurface or come ashore or awaken...the word was hard to pen down. Once he was awake again, he wanted things to be as they had been. And, for the most part, things were. But not with Sasha. He didn't know how it happened, couldn't explain it, loving her, but he did. And, now he wanted her. It was a strange feeling, wanting her. He would look at her and feel heat all over his body. He stood as close to her as the situation at hand would allow. Daryl knew she had to know he was lusting after her...was thinking of doing all sorts of things with her, to her. For a week after his episode, she slept in the bed and he slept on the floor, as before. Or, he tried to sleep with her so close. He knew she had feelings for him, would be with him if he wanted, but, there was this thing that happened. Maybe she wouldn't want a weak and damaged redneck. Maybe, now, she saw him as someone who was unlovable and unable to love. He knew she deserved better. He wanted to give her a better version of himself.

But, god, he couldn't help himself: He. Wanted. Her. Wanted her for his own, all for himself; wanted to leave a different kind of mark on _her_ body, his mark. Wanted to have her any way he wanted. He wanted her all the time, _every day._ He didn't have a clue how to let her know, let her know he was ready. He was afraid. Afraid to risk being rejected by her, and, to Daryl, that meant losing her completely. He was afraid of what being with her meant. He was afraid that he would crumble if, God forbid, something happened to her. He knew he, they, couldn't go on like this...in this odd state of limbo... and he knew he didn't want to.

Sasha rarely went on runs. She was needed at the community. She was a deadly, accurate shot. She put down what, who, was in her scope. She manned the watch platform, then, the tower when it was reconstructed. She spent the day watching, keeping the community, her family, safe. She usually walked the fence with Daryl in the early morning before she went to relieve who was on watch overnight.

That was what the two of them had been doing when she saw his scars. It seemed like so long ago, now. She didn't mention it to Daryl and he never brought it up. Their world needed them alert and focused. She wasn't sure if Daryl wanted to lose that focus again. He seemed ready to the morning she bathed him. Then, he seemed to become unavailable to her. Not so much, that he was pushing her away, more like he was avoiding what was obvious to her, to the both of them. She sensed that Daryl felt something more her. He lingered in her body space, he stared her down, he used his eyes to peel away her clothes whenever they were alone. It made her stomach flutter, the way he looked at her. She could feel his desire for her as soon as he entered any room she was in. But, he was holding those feelings at bay. Keeping his feelings bottled up, walling off the monsters, was how Daryl survived in the past. Now, he used the same tactics he had perfected to wall off those feelings, to wall off from Sasha. He was not as good with shutting out feelings for her as he had been with keeping those painful feelings from the past bottled up. He sucked at it. In fact, he wasn't fooling anyone. Not Sasha, and not himself. It would just take the right pressure for Daryl to acknowledge these new feelings. Sasha took every opportunity to show Daryl she was ready for him, all of him...ready for _them_. She hoped he was ready, too.

Daryl was waiting for Sasha. He was in their bedroom, waiting. She was usually the one who waited for him. Waited for him to come home, come inside, come upstairs. Tonight, Daryl was sitting in the easy chair chewing his thumb, waiting for Sasha. He saw her that morning before he went outside the wall to hunt. It was the first time he had gone out to hunt since his episode. He didn't hunt as much in Virginia as he did in Georgia. He was not as familiar with the terrain or the animals to be harvested. But, squirrels, wild turkeys, deer were everywhere. It was good for him to keep his skills sharp, and he liked being in the woods.

Sasha was outside with Michonne, Carl, and Judith, enjoying the cool of the evening. Judith was beginning to try cruising. She was taking tentative steps while holding onto furniture to steady herself. Michonne told Rick it wouldn't be long before she was actually taking steps. That made all of them happy. The three of them were laughing and talking-being normal, playing with Judith...JuJu Bee, as Michonne called her; who was reveling in her role as the center of attention. Everything she did elicited smiles, claps, cheers from her captive audience. Rick had fallen asleep on the couch, exhausted as usual, from his day. Hearing happy laughter was a welcome sound. Daryl sat and listened.

He didn't want to interrupt the all-to-rare carefree moment they were enjoying...but, he was anxious for Sasha to come inside, come upstairs. He was as nervous as a cat. He needed to see her. Daryl was just about to chew his thumbs to the bone. He couldn't stop. He finally heard voices inside the house. He jumped up when Sasha came into the room. She looked at him, trying to figure out the reason he would react that way to her coming into the room. Daryl spoke to her first.

"Hey," he greeted her.

"Hey, Daryl," she replied. "How was your hunt? What did you get? Anything?"

"Nothin' much. Coupla squirrels, s'all," he shrugged.

"What? You?" she smiled at him. "You didn't bring back enough squirrels to feed every single person in Alexandria? she laughed at this uncharacteristic admission.

"Heart not in it, I guess," he looked directly in her eyes. "Wishin' you was wit' me."

Sasha was stunned. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She waited a moment before responding to what Daryl had said. What did he mean? Was he actually admitting he missed her while he was out? Was he telling her he'd rather be with her than away from her? She didn't want to flip her shit over such a little comment. But, this was Daryl, _her_ Daryl. They both knew; this was not just a little comment.

"Daryl, did something happen while you were out? You can tell me," she was not sure what to make of what he told her. She wanted to be sure he hadn't had some kinda "thing" while he was out there. She wanted to be sure he was clear, was himself.

"Nah, nothin' happened. I didn't freak out again, if that's what you mean."

"No, no...I just wondered, you know, what you meant when you said that just now."

"I meant I wish you had 'a come wit'me, jus' what I said," he walked right into her. He looked down at her, though she tried to avoid his gaze, tried not to look in his eyes. She shifted her weight on her feet. She thought she might faint, he was so close. "I came back 'cause you was in here, not out there. So, I came back. It seemed like you was a hundred miles away...I didn't know if you was safe, or hungry, or scared, or...he paused and took a breath...I came back"

Sasha was now looking at him, taking in his every word. "I'm glad you came back...glad you told me. I'll go out with you tomorrow, if you want."

"No. I want to stay here with you, for a while. I want to be in here, with you. Sasha, I can't just turn this off now that it is on. I'm 'bout to lose my mind wantin' you," he lowered his lips to her ear. "This shit ain't easy for me...but this wantin' you and not havin' you, is killn' me. _That shit is hard._ I ain't afraid of lovin' you...not any more. I'm scared you won't love me, but I'm big boy. I'll chance it."

Sasha put her forehead on Daryl's chest. She gripped his vest in her hands. "I was waiting for you, Daryl. I was waiting and waiting...I 'm glad you came back." She let go of his vest, walked to the door and locked it. Daryl didn't wait for her to walk back, he was behind her at the door, his hands around her waist, his lips on her neck. He was tired of waiting.

He turned her around and kissed her mouth. He was not a gentle kiss, it was insistent, he ravaged her lips. He pushed his tongue into her mouth. He sucked her lip, he licked her face. Daryl was a man possessed, a man on fire. He had a hard-on; a fully erect, thick and stiff, dick pushing into Sasha's thigh. He was not giving her any time to change her mind...he wanted her, wanted this.

Daryl pulled Sasha with him toward the bed. He sat down and fell back onto the bed pulling her on top of him. He gripped her face and kissed her with renewed intensity. Sasha's body responded to Daryl with the same intensity. She pressed her full length into him, she held his hand to her face with one hand and reached for the dick she now fe!t pushing into her belly with her other hand. She reached inside his pants to feel him without a barrier. The sound Daryl made caused her pussy to twitch and spasm. "Oh, shit, Daryl," she said against his lips.

"Do that again," he said with an animal growl that was foreign to his ears and sent chills through Sasha, "do it again."

Sasha stroked and jerked Daryl thick cock until he stilled her hand. He raised his head to look into her face. "Get naked for me," he said. His voice, his tone, was lustful, laced with a wanton maleness. "Naked," he repeated.

Sasha removed her clothes as he watched. Daryl looked at her tiny frame. Sasha was carmel-colored, curvy, and completely naked. She had beautiful, full breasts, a small waist, a firm, round ass, and to Daryl, a pussy to die for. He was sitting on the bed. He pulled her now naked body back into his arms. He sucked an erect nipple into his mouth. Sasha rubbed her hands over his back and moaned. He left one nipple only to taste the other one. He loved the color of her skin contrasted with the darker pigment of her areola and nipples. It reminded him of chocolate chip cookies. He loved chocolate chip cookies.

Sasha climbed onto Daryl's lap, straddling him. She wrapped her forearms around his head and neck, he wrapped his arms around her waist. She kissed him deep. Daryl gripped her ass and turned them around on the bed. He stood up and stripped off his clothes. He was on her and in her in an instant. Sasha thought she screamed, she wasn't sure. Daryl was making sounds from his gut that would make a porn star blush. They both were. He was beyond using any kind of control. He pumped in and out of Sasha's slick, wet pussy with pure abandon...it felt like electricity and fire and magic all at the same time. Sasha was spreading herself open for Daryl as though he would be able to fill her entire insides, she was letting him try.

When they came, they came together...the sound of their climax was not discrete; it was loud, very loud, and obvious...to anyone who happened to be the house. Michonne was standing in the hallway. She couldn't help but hear the sounds coming from the other side of the door. She couldn't help but smile, either. She was happy to hear what she was hearing. It was a good thing. She turned to see a stock-still Rick standing on the stairs. He turned around to go back downstairs, trying to think of an excuse to keep Carl downstairs. He looked over his shoulder at Michonne. He said, "Tomorrow," then they nodded and spoke in unison: "house shuffle."

Daryl and Sasha were finally through. Now they were just touching, stroking, kissing, holding each other. Sasha didn't know what she should say or if she should say anything. She needn't have worried about awkward moments of silence after having been well, and throughly, fucked. Daryl was talking to Sasha about all things "them". He told her how good she made him feel. He said the nastiest things, the most explicit things about what they had done and what he wanted to do, what he would do. He let his hands roam over Sasha's body as he talked. Now that the dam had broken, he did not feel the need to hid anything from her. He was unafraid. He wanted to know what the things he told her earlier, what he was telling her now, meant to her. How she felt about how him pounding into her pussy, how she felt about having his hands, lips, tongue all over her. And, he wanted to know how she felt about them, about him.

He became quiet and rolled onto his back. Sasha folded her hands on Daryl's chest and rested her chin there. He looked at her with trepidation, like he was suddenly aware he was naked and in bed with her. " What is it, Daryl?" she intentionally kept a smile in her voice.

"Are you afraid of me? he looked away to the side.

"No...I am not afraid of you," she answered not knowing where that question came from.

"Do you trust me?" he now focused his eyes on her face.

"Yes...I trust you, of course."

"Do you think I'm bad," he chewed his lip and waited for the answer.

"No...I don't think you're bad. You are my knight-in-shining armor, my hero...my superhero...my avenging angel, my champion. Why would you think that? Don't think that," she wanted him to understand how special she thought he was.

"When I was a kid," he was shaking his head as he spoke of long ago, but not so long ago, really, "I could never be "good". My ol' man made sure I knew it, too. He reminded me in all kinds of ways," he had to take a breath to finish, "everyday." It was hard for Daryl to say those words, harder for Sasha to hear them. "That was not true, you know that. Don't let it, him, make you think bad things about yourself. You don't have to be afraid of him anymore. I want to tell you something, Daryl. Can I? You don't have to say anything, I'm okay with that. But, I love you. I can't help it, I do. If that makes you mad at me, or sad, or afraid, I'm sorry. I love you, Daryl."

"That's good," he grinned at her, "I'm so...that's good, right? I'm glad, 'cause I'm bad in love with you." It was easy for him to say, easier than he thought. He said it right out, without hesitation. "It don't make me mad or sad...it makes me so goddamn happy." They both smiled bright enough to blind the other. "And, Sasha, I ain't scared, not now, not anymore. I ain't afraid."

It was a good feeing, Daryl thought. No sadness, no anger...it felt clean and fresh. The best thing of all, other than loving Sasha and having her love him, was being free of the fear. Not thinking of himself as a ten-year-old, too scared to move, to think, to breath. It was new for Daryl, being out of that darkness. Sasha was sleeping beside him, in their bed. He rubbed his hand over her bare back snd settled himself to sleep right there with her. He looked over at her one last time before closing his eyes. He let himself drift closer toward sleep, the thought echoing in his mind, "The world is a living hell...so what? I could give a fuck about some god damned walkers or some motherfuckers who want what we got, what I got. I'll be damned if I let 'em take it. I'll be damned if I go back to giving a fuck about marks on my back. They ain't as bad as they look-she thinks they're beautiful. Come at me, motherfuckers. I ain't afraid."

End


End file.
